CREDITS over montage of couples. Teenagers flirting. Elderly couple waiting for a bus. Yuppie couple having coffee. People with pets. Kids in a playground. City scenes.

JACK, sleepy, dyspeptic, uncomfortable, in a soiled Calvin Klein tee-shirt and paisley-print boxers, stares blankly at the television, which flickers images of a melodramatic soap opera. Jack has a shrunken, beaten-down quality about him; he looks like someone who's fallen from somewhere, someone who knows loss. Around him, the apartment reeks. It's not messy, just decaying. The unmatching furniture is third-generation, the walls in serious need of paint and the air is heavy with stale cigars and body odor. Jack sits in an easy chair. He is surrounded by books, scripts, a stack of Hollywood Reporters, some greeting cards and pictures.

Robert shops the frozen food aisle, comparing the nutritional information on TV dinners. A shopper passes him and stares.

The TV still on, but Jack's gaze is fixed somewhere beyond the dingy walls of the apartment. On the TV, a game show drones.

It's the correct answer. Jack swivels his chair around toward the window and considers the various relics of time past that are positioned around him: photographs, mementos, cigar paraphernalia, hand-made ceramics. He picks up a notepad he's scribbled on and looks at the notes, than puts it down and focuses on the telephone on the table beside him. He considers, then picks it up to check the dial tone. He hangs up the phone and looks toward the soot-covered, thick windows, straining to see the street below.

Robert ambles over to his favorite bench beside a sorry jungle gym and swing set and sits down beside his groceries. He seems relaxed around the playing children and his mood appears to lift. He reaches into a bag and finds a package of pink, marshmallow Snoballs. After a quick look around him, he opens the package and devours the treats swiftly, but with great relish.

Jack is asleep. Suddenly he wakes up with a gasp and a shriek, startled and disoriented. He soon realizes where he is and calms. He scrunches up his toes a few times to work out the cramp. He turns off the TV with the remote control. He tries to close his eyes, but he cannot sleep.

Robert climbs the hill approaching a dingy apartment building carrying the morning's purchases. He reaches the front door, opens it and squeezes through, trying to balance his bags and packages.

Jack, still in shirt and underpants, smokes his cigar. He considers the new additions to the apartment: party streamers, a 'Happy Birthday' flag, a large, elaborately wrapped present on the cocktail table.

Oh, can it, Creampuff! You do what you want, just stay away from my ass. Hah! Stay away from my ass! Get it?

It's ready!

You sneaking food in there?

Hey, hey, hey!

I'll move it back after lunch.

You remember that guy from Walden, ah, what was his name...?

Oh, yeah, Darren.

Yeah, soccer star.

Whatever.

What about him.

What about Darren?

She's still living in that house with monkeys?

How come she's on Oprah?

Some new book. Chick's still trying to teach that one chimp sign language.

(pause)

Nim.

Nim Chimpsky!

Hmmm?

Shit. That reminds me. I gotta call Patch about those tickets.

I've been running around like crazy I forgot to confirm that show for Megan.

Robert isn't paying attention. Jack puts the pad down and stares at Robert.

What is that, Salisbury Steak, again?

You know that's too much sodium, idiot. You gotta learn this. There's more fucking sodium in Salisbury Steak than ...

The pain in Jack's legs gets too intense and he is distracted. He closes his eyes. Jack tries to dig his thumbs into his thighs to break up the dense pain.

Robert is cleaning up the remains of lunch. Jack watches him. After a beat:

You know, the problem with you, my fat friend, is that you have no self- respect. Your body is a, uh, church, like.

What?

Pause.

I know that.

Fuck you.

When I belonged to that club on Broadway, I fucking worked out every day, man. Every fucking day. Saturdays and Sundays. An hour, hour-and-a-half. Stairmaster, freeweights. Wonder if that membership expired. I should call 'em...

You gotta be fit. Fit for life.

Maybe we could try to take a walk later.

Pause. Jack has drifted off, clearly not wanting to talk about walking. Robert decides not to pursue the subject.

I heard you talking about trying to get a poker-

Jack, all you do is watch TV and talk on that phone all day-

Your tool-

Yeah, well, not any more-

How do you expect me to leave you alone-

If you didn't have that phone to yack into-

I do not yack on the phone. I do not even like calling on the phone. I-

That's not true. That is not true, you lying piece of shit-

Who's been talking to you?

Jack. Nobody-

You are nothing but a faggot piece of shit. You have always been a piece of shit. You will always be -

Why don't you just stay out of my business! Stay out f my shit. You and your friends ... Why don't you just leave me alone and mind your own damn fag business -

Where the hell do you think you're going, Creampuff?

Going to get a paper.

You forgot the fucking paper? You're a fucking loser. A fat fucking loser. The whole world thinks you're a loser. You know that?

You wanna get dressed?

You make me sick.

Don't forget the trades this time. Fucking useless. Don't even keep up with the news. What kind of citizen in a fucking democracy doesn't keep up with the news? All this shit goes on and you fucking fall behind. You can fucking make an effort to keep up with what's happening. Stead of sitting around here complaining, bitchin' at my ass all fucking day long...

Huh!? Jesus you scared the shit outa me. Don't fuckin' do that. Sneaky shit.

Brad Pitt's movie opened.

Mmmm.

Got a good review. And that other thing's been like number one for weeks.

Asshole.

I heard he was getting married. Maybe you'll get an invitation.

Fuck you.

I'm just saying he's gotta feel like he owes you a little-

Oh, shut the fuck up, you idiot. He's an asshole and you're an asshole and you should just shut the fuck up about it before I fucking smack the shit out of you.

I'm just saying -

Can it, Creampuff!

I was just-

CAN IT, CREAMPUFF!

Jesus, you spend more time in that fucking bathroom... Fat fuck.

Jack, you really should let me help you get ready-

You're a freak, you know that? What the fuck happened to you? You used to be a normal fucking person and now you're just a fat, retarded freak.

She's not coming. She's got a ballet recital.

Okay.

Oh... okay.

Okay.

Yeah. Okay.

Yeah. Fine.

Hey.

Say hi from me.

Yeah. Sure.

(pause)

Okay - See you later. See you Robert.

Oh, hey. Hold on.

It's a puzzle.

Thanks.

Bitch.

Suzanna. Not Megan.

Your daughter loves you, Jack.. Suzanna's just trying to protect her.

You got a beautiful kid, Jack.. A smart, beautiful kid. That's a blessing. Nobody can take that away. You and Suzanna made a beautiful, healthy kid...

What in the fuck do you know about it, Creampuff.

What?

What the fuck do you know about kids, and women, and healthy... You fat, cocksucking, PIECE OF SHIT.

YOU FUCKING PERVERT, QUEER, STUPID FUCK! YOU FUCKING LOSER! I FUCKING HATE YOU, I'VE ALWAYS FUCKING HATED YOU! EVEN IN FUCKING SCHOOL YOU WERE-

You messed up my lamp.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Robert.

I know.

Don't go away, okay? Don't leave me, okay?

Okay, Jack. I got you. I'm not going nowhere. You're all I got.

I'm so fucking scared.

I know, honey, I know.

You got me ... ?

I got you.